sure, a Neapolitan, but his is almost the only name that has made itself
immortal in the art of this city. Domenico Morelli, who has recently
died, made himself felt as an original painter with certain claims that
arrested attention. He is not a draughtsman, but he is a colorist of
passionate intensity; he has original power and, more than all, he has a
curious endowment of what may be called artistic clairvoyance.
Transporting himself by the magic of thought to places on which his eye
never rested, he yet sees as in vision their special characteristics.
In one of his most important works, the motive of which is the
temptation of Jesus in the wilderness, he has painted the desert with a
startling reality. Here is a great plain, the stony, parched Judean
plain, with the very feeling of its desolation pervading the atmosphere.
The Royal Chapel in Naples was decorated by Morelli, the ceiling painted
with an "Assumption of the Virgin," which stands alone in all the
interpretations of this theme; not by virtue of superior artistic
excellence,--on the contrary its art does not make a strong appeal,--but
by its originality of treatment. The "Salve Regina" and the "Da Scala
d'Oro" are among the more interesting works of this artist, whose recent
death has removed a figure of exceptional character in modern art, one
who had, pre-eminently, the courage of his convictions. Some few years
ago Morelli's "Temptation of St. Anthony" was exhibited in both Paris
and Florence, and was generally condemned, perhaps because not wholly
understood. The form of the temptation was supposed to be the shapes
taken by a morbid and diseased imagination; but while as a
psychological conception it was not without value, it was yet far from
attractive as a work of art. The finest conception, perhaps, ever
depicted of the temptation of St. Anthony--a subject that has haunted
many an artist--is that painted by the late Carl Guthers of Washington,
a lofty and gifted spirit whose too brief stay on earth ended in the
early months of 1907. In this picture the temptation of the saint
appears as a vision of all that is purest and sweetest in life,--wife,
children, home; it was from all this peace and loveliness that St.
Anthony turned, sacrificing personal happiness to the duty of
consecrated service to his Master, in the exquisite conception of Mr.
Guthers. Edoardo Dalbano is the typical leader of the Neapolitan school
of painting of the present day, and his fascinating picture, called the
"Isle of Sirens," representing the sirens singing in the sunlit Bay of
Naples, might well be held as the keynote to all this enchanting region.
Surely, if the sirens sing not in those blue waters, it were useless to
search elsewhere for them. Buono is an artist of the Neapolitan shores,
who paints its fisher-folk; Brancaccio catches the very spirit and
animated atmosphere of the street scenes of Naples; Campriani and
Pratello are landscapists of note; Esposito, too, despite his Spanish
name, is a Neapolitan marine painter whose work is often most arresting
in its power to catch the flickering sunshine over blue water that
bathes the rocks rising out of the sea,--these isles of the sirens from
which float the melodies that enchanted Odysseus.
The traveller may be surprised to find that in size Naples ranks fourth
on the European Continent,--Paris, Berlin, and St. Petersburg, only,
exceeding it. Naples should be, not only a port, a pleasure haunt, and a
paradise for excursions, but one of the great cities of the world in
commercial and in social importance. It has one of the finest natural
harbors of the world; it has a beautiful and attractive adjoining
country in which to extend, indefinitely, its residence and trade
districts; it has the most enchanting fairyland of views that ever were
seen this side the ethereal world; it has an atmosphere of song and
story and a climate that is far from being objectionable. Naples is
seldom the possessor of a higher temperature in summer than is New York
or Boston; the winters are mild, and they offer weeks of sunny
loveliness when Rome is swept by the icy tramontana from the snow-clad
Alban hills. Naples offers, too, exceedingly good facilities for living;
the groups of excellent hotels, both on the terraces and on the water's
edge in the lower town and along the Villa Nazionale, offer every
comfort, and the politeness and courtesy of the Neapolitans, as a rule,
are among the alluring features of this enchanting city.
What shall be said of one hotel, especially, perched on the cliffs, to
which one ascends by an elevator, finding it the most luxurious
fairyland that imagination can conjure? Leaving the street one walks
through a marble tunnel lighted with electricity, wondering if he is,
indeed, in the grotto of the Muses. Entering a "lift" truly American in
its comfort and speed, he is wafted up the heights and steps out in--is
it paradise? Here is a large salon entirely of glass with an
incomparable view all over the gleaming bay, with Capri and Sorrento
shining fair on the opposite sides and Vesuvius, a purple peak, in the
near distance. The great city of Naples lies spread out below, with its
interior heights of Capodimonte and others. It is a view for which alone
one might well sail the four thousand miles of sea from the American
shores. Through open French windows one may step out on the terrace. If
it is cold he may still enjoy this sublimely wonderful view behind the
glass walls that reveal all its beauty and protect him from wind or
chill. Elsewhere adjoining salons stretch away, where sunshine, music,
reading matter, and dainty writing-desks allure the guest and create for
him, indeed, an earthly paradise.
Of the drive on the Strada Nuova di Posilipo, skirting the coast while
following the winding rise of the hill, with the sumptuous villas and
gardens on one side and the blue sea on the other,--what words can
suggest its charm? On a jutting promontory on the ruins of the Palazzo
di Donna Ana are seen the palace whose convenient location made it
possible for the royal hosts to throw their guests into the sea whenever
they became tiresome, an accommodation that the modern hostess might, at
times, appreciate. On this road, winding up the Posilipo, is the villa
where Garibaldi passed the last winter of his life and which is marked
by a tablet. And everywhere and at every turn are the beautiful views,
commanding Bagnoli, Camaldoli, Ischia, Baia and Procida, Capri, Nisida
and the Neapolitan waters. The hill slopes are overgrown with myrtles
and orange trees and roses. Here and there a defile is filled with a
vineyard under careful culture.
In the presence of all this marvel of nature's loveliness the visitor
hardly remembers the historic interest; yet it was on the little island
of Nisida that Brutus and Cassius concocted the conspiracy against
Caesar. The vast Phlegraean Plain before the eye is invested with Hellenic
traditions and is the region of many scenes in the poems of Virgil and
Homer. In the years of the first and second centuries this plain was
dotted with the rich villas of the Roman aristocracy. Here, too, lay the
celebrated Lacus Avernus, a volcanic lake which the ancients regarded as
the entrance to Avernus itself. Truly it required little imagination to
see here the approach to the infernal regions. The air was so poisonous
that no bird could fly over the lake and live. Virgil's scene of the
descent of AEneas, guided by the sibyl, into the infernal depths is laid
here; and near this lake are resorts of the latter-day tourist, known
as the "Sibyl's Grotto," the "Grotto della Pace," the "Bagni di Sibyl,"
and the "Inferno."
[Illustration: ANCIENT TEMPLE, BAIAE
_Page 241_]
Baia, on the coast, was the Newport of Rome in the days of Augustus,
Hadrian, Cicero, and Nero. It was then the most magnificent summer
watering-place known to the world. The glory of the Roman Empire was
reflected in the glory of Baia. In one of the Epistles of Horace a Roman
noble is made to say: "Nothing in the world can be compared with the
lovely bay of Baia." Some five hundred years ago this region became so
malarial that no one could dwell in it. Fragments and ruins still remain
of the imposing baths and villas of the Roman occupancy. An old crater
called the Capo Miseno is described by Virgil as the burial place of
Misenus:--
"_At pius AEneas ingenti mole sepulcrum
Inponit, suaque arma viro remumque tubamque
Monte sub aereo, qui nunc Misenus ab illo
Dicitur aeternumque tenet per saecula nomen._"
Cumae was the most ancient Greek colony of Italy on the coast, and the
last survivors of the Tarquinii died here. This is the most classic of
all these legendary coast towns near Naples, as it was here that the
Cumaean Sibyl dwelt with the mysterious sibylline leaves,--the books that
were carried to Rome. A colossal Acropolis was once here, fragments of
whose walls are now standing; and the rocky foundation is honeycombed
with secret passages and openings. It is here that Virgil's "Grotto of
the Sibyl" is supposed to have stood,--the grotto "whence resound as
many voices, the oracles of the prophetess."
The journey from Naples to Herculaneum is easily made by electric train
cars within an hour, and while there is not much to see it is still an
excursion well worth making. Dr. de Petra, of the chair of Archaeology in
the University of Naples, and formerly the Director of the National
Museum, is warmly in favor of the proposed excavation of this buried
city, as is Professor Spinazzola of the San Martino museum, who believes
that Italy may well become one vast museum of antiquities. "As the
theatre of Herculaneum is actually at present a subterranean
excavation," he observed, "why not excavate in a similar way the entire
city underneath modern Resina? In this way a perfectly unique
underground museum would be formed, which would have the merit of
leaving magnificent Roman art treasures exactly in their proper places
in the villas. Such a work ought to be perfectly practicable, with the
resources of modern engineering, and would certainly be unique in the
world.
"There would be no need to build a special museum for the objects
discovered. Not only would this money be saved, but I feel convinced
that so many visitors would be attracted as to more than pay for the
maintenance. A subterraneous Herculaneum--surely a perfectly unique
place of pilgrimage, just as it was nearly two thousand years ago--might
be lighted by electric arc lights. I feel certain it would attract
sight-seers from the ends of the world. At the same time work might go
on in the open parts of the city.
"Pompeii was more of an industrial town, while Herculaneum was a
favorite resort of the Roman patricians, who did not bring their
treasures with them from their northern homes, but had them executed by
Greek artists in the south."
Under the mighty floods of _lava d'acqua_ that buried Herculaneum
doubtless lie temples, a splendid forum, magnificent villas, and most
valuable art and literary treasures. In the eighteenth century
excavations brought to light rare bronzes, mosaics, and papyri. The
famous equestrian statue of Balbo, in the Naples Museum, was excavated
from Herculaneum. Professor Lanciani and Commendatore Boni of Rome--the
latter the present director of the Forum, succeeding Lanciani--believe
that some of the richest art of ancient times may be found in
Herculaneum; as does Professor Dall'Osso, inspector of excavations at
Pompeii.
Herculaneum is held to have been founded by Hercules when he landed at
Campania, returning from Iberia, some three hundred years B.C., and it
was in 63 A.D. that it was destroyed. Of this cataclysm Pliny, the
Younger, wrote:--
"The sea seemed to roll back on itself by the convulsions of the
earth. On the other side hung a black and dreadful cloud, bursting
with fiery and serpentine vapors. Naught was heard in the darkness
but the shrieks of women, the screams of children, and the frenzied
cries of men calling for children, for wives, for parents,--all
lifting hands to the gods, praying and wishing for death."
Dr. Charles Waldstein of Cambridge University, the eminent archaeologist,
whose efforts toward initiating the excavation of Herculaneum were a
notable event of 1906, thus writes of this buried city:--
"It is important to bear in mind that naturally all the best works
in the Museum of Naples, especially the bronzes, came from
Herculaneum and not from Pompeii.
"What is most striking is the marvellous preservation of these
works. This fact of itself ought to counteract the strange but
widespread misapprehension that, while Pompeii was covered with
cinders and ashes, Herculaneum was covered with lava, and that the
hardness of that material made excavation difficult, if not
impossible. All geologists and archaeologists are agreed that no
lava issued from the eruption of 79 A.D. Herculaneum was covered by
a torrent of mud consisting of ashes and cinders mixed with water.
The mass which covers it, so far from being less favorable to the
preservation of objects, is much more favorable than that which
covers Pompeii. Pompeii was partially covered with hot ashes and
pumice stones, which burnt or damaged the works of art. As it was
not wholly covered, moreover, the inhabitants returned and dug up
some of their greatest treasures. Herculaneum, on the other hand,
had its actual life, arrested at the highest point, securely
preserved from depredation, to a depth of eighty feet, by a
material which preserved intact the most delicate specimens which
have come down to us in a state so perfect as to be really
remarkable.
"The most important of these delicate objects are manuscripts, of
which that one villa produced 1750. The state of preservation is
illustrated by one specimen, giving two pages from the works of the
philosopher Philademus. Unfortunately, the possessor of the villa
was a specialist, a student of Epicurean philosophy. While his
taste in art was fortunately so catholic, his taste in literature
was narrowed down by his special bent. Piso was the friend and
protector of the philosopher Philo. Already sixty-five copies of
that author's works have been found among the papyri.
"Yet the city of Herculaneum contained many such villas, and herein
it differed from Pompeii. Pompeii was a commonplace provincial town
devoted exclusively to commerce; it was not the resort of wealthy
and cultured Romans. It was essentially illiterate. No manuscript
can be proved to have been found there. It is true a wax tablet
with writing has been found; yet this contains--receipts of
auctions. Herculaneum, on the other hand, was the favorite resort
of wealthy Romans, who built beautiful villas there as in our times
people from modern Rome settle for the summer at Sorrento and
Castellammare."
The present descent into the theatre of Herculaneum is made by a flight
of more than a hundred steps, slippery and cold, in total darkness save
for the candle that is carried by the guide, and the visitor sees only
the stone seats of the amphitheatre and the stage with the two vacant
niches, the statues that filled each being now placed in the Museum in
Naples.
The journey of thirteen miles from Naples to Pompeii is through a
succession of densely populated villages that seem to be an integral
part of Naples itself, for there is no line of demarcation. Portici,
Torre del Greco, Torre dell'Annunziata, and others all blend with each
other and with Naples. However familiar one has become with the
literature of Pompeii, with both archaeological descriptions and
imaginative interpretations in romance, and however familiar with its
aspects he may have become from replicas in art museums, and from
pictures, one can yet hardly approach this silent, phantom city without
being thrilled by its deep significance. At a distance of a few miles
over the gently undulating plain rises Vesuvius; one gazes on the paths
where the rivers of molten fire must have rolled down. George S.
Hillard, visiting Pompeii in 1853, thus described a house which the
visitors of to-day study and admire:--
"The finest house we saw within the walls is one which had been
discovered and laid bare about four months previous to the date of
our visit, called the house of the Suonatrice, from a painting of a
female playing on a pipe, at the entrance. This house was deemed of
such peculiar interest that it was under the charge of a special
custode, and was only to be seen on payment of an extra fee. It was
not of large size, but had evidently been occupied by a person of
ample fortune and exquisite taste. The paintings on the walls were
numerous, and in the most perfect preservation. In the rear was a
minute garden not more than twenty or thirty feet square, with a
fairy fountain in the centre; around which were several small
statues of children and animals, of white marble, wrought with
considerable skill. The whole thing had a very curious effect, like
the tasteful baby-house of a grown-up child. Everything in this
house was in the most wonderful preservation. The metal pipes which
distributed the water, and the cocks by which it was let off,
looked perfectly suited for use. Nothing at Pompeii seemed so real
as this house, and nowhere else were the embellishments so numerous
and so costly.
"Pompeii, though a Roman city in its political relations, was
everywhere strongly marked with the impress of the Greek mind. It
stood on the northern edge of that part of Italy which, from the
number of Grecian colonies it contained, was called Magna
Graecia,--a region of enchanting beauty, in which the genius of
Greece attained its most luxurious development. It has been
conjectured that Pompeii had an unusually large proportion of men
of property, who had been drawn there by the charms of its
situation and climate, and that it thus extended a liberal
patronage to Greek architects, painters, and sculptors. At any
rate, the spirit of Greece still lives and breathes in its ashes.
Its temples, as restored by modern architects, are Greek. Its works
in marble and bronze claim a place in that cyclus of art of which
the metopes of the Parthenon are the highest point of excellence.
The pictures that embellish the walls, the unzoned nymphs, the
bounding Bacchantes, the grotesque Fauns, the playful arabesques,
all are informed with the airy and creative spirit of Greek art.
"The ruins of Pompeii are not merely an open-air museum of
curiosities, but they have great value in the illustration they
offer to Roman history and Roman literature. The antiquarian of our
times studies the great realm of the past with incomparable
advantage, by the help of the torch here lighted."
From Pompeii to Castellammare, the beautiful seaside summer resort of
the Neapolitans, "a lover of nature could hardly find a spot of more
varied attractions. Before him spreads the unrivalled bay,--dotted with
sails and unfolding a broad canvas, on which the most glowing colors and
the most vivid lights are dashed,--a mirror in which the crimson and
gold of morning, the blue of noon, and the orange and yellow-green of
sunset behold a livelier image of themselves,--a gentle and tideless
sea, whose waves break upon the shore like caresses, and never like
angry blows. Should he ever become weary of waves and languish for
woods, he has only to turn his back upon the sea and climb the hills for
an hour or two, and he will find himself in the depth of sylvan and
mountain solitudes,--in a region of vines, running streams,
deep-shadowed valleys, and broad-armed oaks,--where he will hear the
ringdove coo, and see the sensitive hare dart across the forest aisles.
A great city is within an hour's reach; and the shadow of Vesuvius hangs
over the landscape, keeping the imagination awake by touches of mystery
and terror."
The road to Sorrento, on a cliff a hundred feet or more above the sea,
with mountains on the other side, towering up hundreds of feet high; a
road cut in many places out of the solid rock, supported by galleries
and viaducts from below,--a road that crosses deep gorges and chasms,
always with the iridescent colors of the sea below,--and from Sorrento
to Amalfi again, only, if possible, even more wonderful,--is there in
the world any drive that can rival this picturesque and sublime route?
Of it George Eliot wrote:--
"It is an unspeakably grand drive round the mighty rocks with the
sea below; and Amalfi itself surpasses all imagination of a
romantic site for a city that once made itself famous in the
world."
Sorrento, with its memories and associations of Tasso, seems a place in
which one cares only to sit on the balcony of the hotel overhanging the
sea and watch the magic spectacle of a panorama unrivalled in all the
beauty of the world. Flowers grow in riotous profusion; the fairy sail
of a flitting boat is caught in the deepening dusk; the dark outline of
Vesuvius is seen against the horizon; and orange orchards gleam against
gray walls. Here Tasso was born, in 1544, fit haunt for a poet, with
tangles of gay blossoms and the aerial line of mountain peaks. A low
parapet borders the precipice, and over it one leans in the air heavy
with perfume of locust blossoms. Has the lovely town anything beside
sunsets and stars and poets' dreams? Who could ask for more?
To La Cava,--to Amalfi,--still all a dream world!
"O summer day, beside the joyous sea!
O summer day so wonderful and white,
So full of gladness and so full of pain!"
How Amalfi sets itself to song and music! Who can enter it without
hearing in the air Longfellow's beautiful lines?--
"Sweet the memory is to me
Of a land beyond the sea,
Where the waves and mountains meet,
Where, amid her mulberry-trees,
Sits Amalfi in the heat,
Bathing ever her white feet
In the tideless summer seas.
* * * * *
'Tis a stairway, not a street,
That ascends the deep ravine,
Where the torrent leaps between
Rocky walls that almost meet.
* * * * *
This is an enchanted land!
Round the headlands, far away,
Sweeps the blue Salernian bay
With its sickle of white sand;
Further still and furthermost
On the dim discovered coast,
Paestum with its ruins lies,
And its roses all in bloom."
If ever a region was dropped out of paradise designed, solely, for a
poet's day-dreams, it is Amalfi, and the even more beautiful Ravello
just above. One fancies that it must have been in the mystic loveliness
of this eyrie that the poet lost himself in a day-dream while Jupiter
was dividing all the goods of the world. When he reproached the god for
not saving a portion for him, Jupiter replied that all the goods were
gone, it was true, but that his heaven was always open to the poet.
The ancient Amalfi, the city of activities and merchandise, is gone.
"Where are now the freighted barks
From the marts of east and west?
Where the knights in iron sarks
Journeying to the Holy Land,
Glove of steel upon the hand,
Cross of crimson on the breast?
Where the pomp of camp and court?
Where the pilgrims with their prayers?
Where the merchants with their wares?
* * * * *
Vanished like a fleet of cloud,
Like a passing trumpet-blast,
Are those splendors of the past,
And the commerce and the crowd!
Fathoms deep beneath the seas
Lie the ancient warves and quays,
Swallowed by the engulfing waves."